One Hundred Moments, One Hundred Stories
by foreverfallingfast
Summary: As a war rages and the future becomes more and more uncertain, members of a ragtag army tasked with defending the world as they know it stop and savor the little things-all the tragedies and miracles that happen every day. PoR/RD
1. Lord: Ike

A/N::

SOOOOOO. I'm taking on the Fire Emblem 100 themes challenge! Woo!

I'm actually gonna do two—one for Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn, the other for Rekka no Ken. 200 themes. Oooooh dear.

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Lord

Ike was rather taken aback when Sanaki decided to promote him. He was used to being a Ranger—it was the way his father had taught him to fight. He used his opponents' strength against them though he himself had plenty. He fought with many different styles and weapons. He was used to the blue of his shirt, the red of his cape. His class represented all he knew about life and all he held dear. In truth, he had never thought of what he would become if he was not a Ranger any longer. Realistically he knew that eventually he would have to make the adjustment if he wanted to reach his full potential, but there was no natural progression from Ranger. It wasn't like with the others—Cavalier became Paladin, Fighter became Warrior, Myrmidon became Swordmaster, and so on—he had nowhere to go.

He faced Elincia and got down on one knee. Some distant, disconnected part of him recognized that this was huge, life-changing, even. He had never offered his sword merely for the posterity of future generations. He wondered how it would be different—being a tool of the kingdom, to be directed at his superior's will. It didn't exactly sit well, but Ike wasn't one to dwell on such things. It was Soren's job to be wary of each new development in their lives.

He didn't know what to expect from promotion. He had seen it on the battlefield—just last time they had met Daein in battle, Oscar had become a paladin. The green-haired paladin described for him how the Goddess's light surrounded him and left him teeming with power. As Princess Elincia touched his shoulder with his blade, Ike began to see the glow developing around him. He could feel Ashera's blessing strengthening him, changing him. When his eyes opened once more, the sensations Ike felt were nothing like those Oscar had described. Yes, he felt powerful; yes, he felt fast and skilled and lucky. But it was unsettling. A quick examination revealed that his new shirt was a dark grey lined with green, his old, tattered red cape was now blue and neat. The empty feeling increased when he learned of his new title—that of lord.

This wasn't what Ike wanted for himself. This wasn't what Ike wanted for Mist, or Soren, or any of the other mercenaries under his command. This, Ike had a sinking suspicion, was going to be the end of the Greil Mercenaries and he himself.

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ANNND HERE WE GO GETTING OFF TO A TERRIBLE START.

Ike doesn't contemplate stuff like this, I know. And he's not the cynical one. I really hate this. Oh well.

Next up::

#2-Departure Preparations featuring Soren!


	2. Departure Preparations: Soren

2. Departure Preparations

The calm before the storm always truly set in around midnight. Everyone in the army knew that every new day brought new pain and new loss, so there was revelry almost every night as a way of keeping the nightmares away. Soren generally ignores the activities of his fellow soldiers and instead spends his nights in solitude drawing up plans or taking inventory or any number of mundane tasks that kept the army running. Really, it was therapeutic—away from the hustle and bustle, nothing but him and his thoughts. It wasn't the same as the rush just before a battle, the desperate shuffling of troops, exchange of weapons, and frantic rushing to and from base. Soren always appreciated the peace, being a true misanthrope to the core. He would spend entire nights holed up in supply tents and war rooms, until Ike found him the next morning and woke him up. These nights were, in a way, what held the young mage together. They were peaceful and calm, and pretty much just bliss.


	3. Heroine: Micaiah

A/N:: So, I just realized I'd completely forgotten the disclaimer for all my fanfics. Oops. Well, I don't own Fire Emblem, this 100 challenges thing wasn't even my idea, soo….sorry 'bout that. I am also sorry about the horrendously short and pointless thing I submitted for #2. I will try to do better.

On to #3-Heroine, starring….Micaiah!

They were true; those words Sothe had spat at her in rage. They had truly gone from heroes to tyrants in a matter of weeks. Her Dawn Brigade had been assimilated into her army without a hitch. They stayed with her for king and country, for loyalty and love for her. The Maiden had once felt her heart fill with joy and pride whenever she saw her old friends fighting for what they believe in. But now…

Now Micaiah was hardened. She was a General, she was a tool for the leaders of Daein. Now Micaiah had seen her brother, her _Sothe, _fall, and she could do nothing about it. She had seen Pelleas, who loved her and trusted her and gave everything to her, come apart at the seams from the stress and the pain of what his naïveté and inexperience had wrought. She had seen what was to come in her visions, she had held the knife and thrust it forward. When her eyes closed she saw the slight smile on his face even as the light left his eyes, in her sleep she screamed at the feel of flesh parting under the knife, of red blood flowing over her hands and her clothes, and the floor, and his life's blood leaking out of him and the mark fading from his arm. It was that knowledge of what she would do (or had done, sometimes she really wasn't sure) and how much she had lost that caused her new hardness, her coldness. She wanted to enter the fray, to lead her troops through example, and to lose herself to the reckless abandon of warfare. However, her frightened soldiers' desperate pleas caused her to stand at the gates of Castle Nox and with a Physic staff in her hand like a scepter, watch the battle with detachment. She felt nothing as her black-armored soldiers were cut down by the beasts' claws. She felt nothing as she raised her staff in defense of her comrades. She felt nothing as her line was broken and the Hero she hated so much bore down on her….

She felt only a stirring of something as she saw a blood-drenched Sothe run to her, panic clear in his face. Micaiah closed her eyes to ward off the sight of her family, her Sothe, her Edward, her Leonardo, her Nolan, her Volug, her Rafiel watching her die with anguish in their eyes. She fought the darkness, unwilling to forsake her country because of this weakness. As her vision faded, she had a sudden vision of a once-battlefield, broken arrows, an abandoned shield, a sword stuck in the ground…

The Silver-Haired Maiden, stained with red, did not die that day. Laura, yet another of her faithful companions, spent day and night for a week healing her. Though she yet lived, the Priestess of Dawn did not seem to take any enjoyment of that fact. She was not a heroine. She was not a savior. Nor was she a villain, or a devil. She was neither holy nor base, neither angel nor devil. She was duty. Honor. Loyalty. Peace. Balance. She was Micaiah.


	4. A Faithful Knight: Geoffrey and Kieran

A/N:: I'm trying to crank out two or three of these babies in one day. It's summer vacation, so it's not like I've got anything better to do than try to please nonexistent readers. XP

From their earliest days in training to be knights, Kieran idolized Geoffrey. Kieran was from an unimportant minor noble family—really only one step above the common folk—and was fascinated by the solemn blue-haired lad with his perfect manners and delicate ways. He tried to cheer his companion up with his boisterous ways and loud jokes, but usually only succeeded in drawing a small disapproving frown.

Among the recruits, Kieran came to be known as the kid who was too much trouble for his own good. His antics often resulted in punishments for his entire class, and so he was generally hated. But the redheaded boy took it all in stride because he had sworn he would make Geoffrey of Delbray laugh, and he was not backing out now. No matter how many times he was beat up for his troubles; he would not let himself be swayed from his path.

One day, he sought out his unenthusiastic companion to continue his never-ending quest to garner a smile from Geoffrey. As he bounded eagerly up to begin his barrage of jokes and general silliness, he was stopped in his tracks by a quiet, cold

"Don't."

"What was that, my good man?" he replied after a slight pause.

"I grow tired of this, Trainee Kieran. Do not presume that befriending me will help you 'move up in the world,' so to speak. I do not benefit from my family's standing in Crimea's court, and neither do you. I am sick and tired of social climbers attempting to garner favor through me and my family's good name. If you would be so kind as to cease your silly and distracting actions, it would be for the betterment of all the recruits in our class!"

Kieran frowned and replied in an uncharacteristically serious voice, "Geoffrey, I am not trying to move up in the world, as you seem to think. If I wished to do so, I would be pandering to our superiors as many of our fellows do. I only wanted to cheer you up. You seem very unhappy, and an unhappy knight is a distracted knight, as they say. I figured you were homesick or lonely, so I tried to alleviate some of your sorrow. I'm sorry that I offended you…_Trainee Geoffrey."_

Kieran honored Geoffrey's wishes and did indeed stay away; he didn't change his ways, but he didn't focus any attention on the blue-haired lordling, either. He was shocked at his eventual promotion to Captain, though he wasn't at all surprised to see that Geoffrey rose quickly through the ranks. It was even more shocking to be promoted to Deputy Commander under Geoffrey, though the fact that he was the only other Royal Knight that actively fought against Ashnard. Kieran had never expected to be considered for promotion by Geoffrey, but he was pleased to see that, at last, he had gained the friendship of his general.

On Geoffrey's part, the choice was obvious. Kieran had served loyally and his strength was incredible. Though he appeared irresponsible and immature, he was a steadfast comrade and flawless leader. When Geoffrey considered all the possible knights for the job, Kieran was the one who stood out as a loyal friend and a terrible enemy, as a leader of men and a follower of orders, and as both a faithful knight and a fearless warrior.

A/N:: Ugggghhhh, this did not come out the way I wanted. I'm sad, too, because I really like both Geoffrey and Kieran. I didn't do them justice. Oh well.

But hey! Lookee there! Dialogue! OMG!


	5. The Critical Moment: Rhys

Rhys had always been delicate. He was sickly and fragile, and he often felt that he was more trouble than he was worth. However, he always felt that he was repaying his debts to the Greil Mercenaries by healing them no matter how trivial the ailment. Whether it was something as severe as a poisoned wound, or something as mundane as Shinon's seemingly constant hangovers, Rhys was always there with a Heal staff in hand and a reassuring smile on his face. Titania often said that she didn't think the stress was good for him. He was always seized by terror when an enemy bore down on him on the battlefield. Rhys was always sick with fear when he raised his staff to heal a half-dead ally because _what if it wasn't enough._ The fear of not being strong enough to protect his friends haunted his nightmares. It plagued him constantly.

During the Mad King's War, Rhys knew more grief and pain than ever before. Previously he had questioned the wisdom of teaching Mist the ways of healing, but his efforts paid off when the young cleric saved his life. He spent most of the year the war lasted drained and ill from the stresses of channeling spirits into staves. He was unconscious for two days after using the Ashera staff to heal all his allies. The number of spirits it took to activate that staff was far too much for him. In the heat of battle he had overestimated himself, and he was paying for it now. He trained in Light magic, trained in swordsmanship and horsemanship for brief times with Mia, and he became stronger in mind and spirit. His body remained frail, but he learned that not all strengths were purely in skill or power. The way the spirits now bent to his will meant nothing to the calm priest. He had seen the way Soren occasionally lost control as he grew stronger. The spirits under his control flared up; rebelled against the constraints the young sage had set, and completely _obliterated_ their target. This was not what he wanted when he became a magic-user. He wanted to be able to aid his allies even in the heat of battle. Rhys wanted to be invaluable to those he loved. He wanted to be a port in the storm of war, not a barely-human, indiscriminate killer. He had seen that happen to far too many young mages. They became slaves to the spirits, mere vessels for their otherworldly power. That was why he eventually chose to teach Soren the ways of healing; it was in hopes that the gentler spirits associated with the sacred staves would temper the fury of the anima spirits the boy usually employed. He wasn't sure if he succeeded.

As the years went by, Rhys found himself growing more confident and less delicate overall. He retained a weak constitution, but he no longer needed protecting. During the Goddess's War, everything he took as real was questioned. He was a holy man, yet he would have to fight and kill his Goddess. Rhys had determined that he would no longer cower behind the vanguard, away from the action. Even when he hadn't the time to reach for a tome, a staff made a passable weapon. When faced with a descending axe or a charging lancer, it may often seem inadequate, but it was effective enough.

Really, there was only one decision Rhys could have made when he saw a dragon bearing down on an already badly injured Titania. He thrust himself between her and the stream of red fire directed at his Deputy Commander. Though he knew he was dying, he could feel nothing but joy, for he died as he had lived—protecting those he loved and fighting for what he thought was right. Though in the critical moment his strength failed him, the fragile young priest made his mark on the world.

Uhm…I'm not sure what happened here. It took me a long time to get going on this one, but then this kinda happened…but I really like Rhys and hope I did him justice. I'm new to this whole fanfiction thing, so…yeah.


	6. A Hero: Ike

A/N::

This one will probably suck, seeing as it's starring Ike, and I never do him justice.

'_Ha ha ha! Think you're as stubborn as your mule-headed father? Ike. Grow up big and strong. I believe you've got the makings of a great warrior.'_

Ike could remember most of the things his father taught him. He knew that those gruff words of wisdom were the only things that tied his father to his children. That, and a ragtag group of mercenaries who wish to be noble despite their sellsword ways. Wisdom, plus a patch of dirt and a deep red sunset, and an axe left behind to rust and decay. His father, despite his skill, left no real mark on history.

Ike leaned against a window sill in the Gallian castle. Would that be his fate as well? Was that the fate of all mercenaries—to be struck down in the rain by someone you once tutored and cared for? Ike knew that he was not fit to lead, not yet. He could see it in Titania's eyes, in Soren's careful reports and simplified strategies. It stared him down from behind Oscar's gentle encouragement; it snarled at him through Shinon's cold abandonment. Insecurity was his constant companion. Inadequacy hounded his footsteps.

What would he become? His father had, once upon a time, told him that he would become a great warrior. But how was he to achieve that if he had only around ten men to face down one of the strongest armies the continent had ever seen? Hopelessness was something Ike was unfamiliar with. Stubbornness and determination came far more naturally. But now, as he looked over the sea of trees, the young mercenary finally closed his eyes and allowed himself to fall.


	7. Knight and Princess:Geoffrey and Elincia

A/N:: Hey, maybe this time I'll actually get two out in one day!

Hey, this one has a warning. Implied child abuse.

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Even when they were children, Geoffrey's sense of propriety would get in the way of their friendship. He was told by his father, in no uncertain terms, that he was not to get to familiar with the quiet green-haired girl that had been brought into their home. Though she turned out to be kind and smart and curious about almost everything, Geoffrey was not to take advantage of her kindness, use her intelligence, or indulge her curiosity. Lucia was allowed to spend time with Elincia, but he was to study and train and forget that she was a part of their household.

Once, Elincia went looking for Geoffrey. She found him sitting in the courtyard of Delbray Manor, lost in thought. When he saw her in the shadows, he leapt to his feet, apologizing profusely. He bowed quickly and retreated into the safety of his father's study and his father's library. Elincia never forgot how serious he was, at the age of ten.

Eventually the two of them became friends. It was almost inevitable, really. Delbray was not that large. Geoffrey, Elincia, and Lucia were inseparable, though Geoffrey would sometimes disappear for a time and come back quieter and more reserved.

When the blue-haired boy went off to become a knight, Lucia and Elincia cried together. They missed their brother, and they didn't want him to commit to the deadly life of the Knights. However much they wanted their brother home, their hearts swelled whenever they heard he had achieved a new promotion or some award.

The next time Elincia saw Geoffrey, he was drenched in sweat and blood and leading an entire platoon of Crimean Knights. He whisked her away, but they were ambushed. He rescued her, but he was unable to protect her when it came down to it. If Lucia and Bastian had not been there to restrain him, he would have gone racing after those Daein dastards and ripped each one to pieces.

The night after his failure, Geoffrey sat locked in his chambers in the recesses of Delbray Manor. His thoughts whirled, his body shook, and his breath caught at the realization that the woman he loved, the princess he was bound to serve, could be dead because of his shortcomings. His father would have reprimanded him harshly, he thought with a shudder.

'_Father, I only wish to befriend Elincia. She is to live with us, so should I not extend to her some courtesy?'_

'_No, my son. You and her are not to associate. She is the daughter of our most esteemed King. It would be most improper.'_

'_But Father—'_

'_I said NO, Geoffrey! Do NOT talk back to me, do you hear! You know the consequences of disrespect in this household…'_

'_Y-yes…'_

Geoffrey closed his eyes and leaned against the headboard. It made him feel sick. It was so wrong, everything he was feeling. His father, Lord Delbray, had been killed during Daein's first assault. And yet, the young knight did not mourn. His father was dead. He had died as he had lived. And he lived on…in his son. It made Geoffrey's stomach turn, how he would never, never be free. Not as long as he loved Elincia the way he did. For he had been raised with strong ideals on how a knight should behave toward his princess drilled into him by his father. He considered his emotions dirty and wrong. He should serve Elincia with honor and detachment. This terrible attraction he felt would be the end of him. He dreamed of her at night, and she occupied his thoughts every moment of the day. These feelings for his princess would be the end of the knight.

His father would make sure of it.

* * *

…

Yeah, not really sure what happened here. Originally I was going to make it a cute little exchange between Elincia and Geoffrey based off one of their base conversations in Radiant Dawn. Then it became…this. Whatever.

I always thought there was more to Geoffrey than what meets the eye.


	8. Attack!: Boyd

A/N:: I guess I'm just so inspired by the holiday that I'm cranking these things out like they're going out of style. Actually, they are. As showcased by the fact that I'm one of the only ones still taking this challenge.

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All Boyd had to defend himself with were tears. Maybe, if he cried too much, he would run out and be defenseless. When his mother was gone, his tears ran free down his cheeks, onto his blankets, and onto his father and brother when they held him. But it still hurt. The green-haired child deemed tears an unfit defense, and made himself stronger.

He never cried again.

All Boyd had to defend himself with were words. Maybe, if he talked enough, he would be able to say all the words that needed to be said before his big brother left for the knights. After Oscar was gone, Boyd took all the words that used to fill his head and filled pages and pages of paper with them. He transcribed every moment of his day, just in case Oscar came home one day and wanted to know what he had missed. Sometimes he would send them off, if it was something important. One day, his family received a letter that said Oscar had been badly injured in a training accident. He reread the words again and again, put down his pen, and made himself stronger.

He never sent another letter.

All Boyd had to defend himself with were smiles. Maybe, if he smiled enough, his father wouldn't be sick anymore and his stepmother would come back and his baby brother would no longer cry from hunger. When Oscar came home, Boyd dropped his smile and allowed himself to hand some of the burden to his older brother. He let his grief out and it made him stronger.

He never tried to suffer alone again.

All Boyd had to defend himself with was a wooden axe. Maybe, if he took up a weapon, he could help his brother take care of their little family. His crudely fashioned practice weapons broke often, but that did not deter him. He had to do this. He had to protect his baby brother, Rolf. Boyd got better at wielding and crafting axes, and made himself stronger.

He never gave up on anything.

When the three brothers joined Greil's Mercenaries, Boyd continued to practice and get better. He befriended the commander's young son, Ike. He got older and smarter and better at everything. He learned to take advice from those wiser than him and to let insults roll off his back. When he was old enough and strong enough, he was allowed to go on missions.

Boyd no longer needed to defend himself. He no longer needed tears, or words, or smiles, or wooden toys. Now he could abandon the childish means he used to survive and take the offensive.

He could take the offensive. He could attack.


	9. Joining Up: Stefan

A/N:: It's been a few days. Vacations, visiting family, and the other projects I'm working on have all gotten in the way….in fact, updates are going to slow down considerably. I'm getting started on two multi-chaptered fics. The first is a Fire Emblem one called 'Unification' that combines the worlds and most of the characters from games 7, 8, and 9/10. Still working out kinks in the plotline, but I just finished writing revised epilogues for all the characters concerned. It was extremely fun, and I am really excited! I am also writing a Legend of Zelda fic. I'll continue working on this, but it will really be put on the backburner.

Please don't stop reading, if you're there. And SilverHairedMaiden, don't stop reviewing. You're the best. ;)

Stefan wearily dropped his gear in the corner of the room he had been allowed. Mainal Cathedral, huh? The desert man had never expected to see the streets of Sienne. He hated it already. Surrounded by the walled in gardens and courtyards, the soaring cathedrals and manor homes, he felt trapped. He missed the burning sands and wide-open skies of the wasteland he called home. Here he was out of place. He had no place in the carefully maintained hierarchy of Begnion life.

This army was bizarre. Beorc and laguz, working together, eating together, fighting together. It unnerved Stefan. There was even a little Branded boy who stayed by the general and held one of the highest positions in the army. He hated the feeling that all he knew was a lie, a fallacy he clung to out of fear. He couldn't wait for the war to end, so he could go back to the sands he knew.

Was it wrong, the way he was feeling? That this progress was not truly what was best for the world. The laguz acted as if they were the end-all, be-all of Ashera's creations. They hated the beorc for their enslavement, despite the fact that they had once subjugated the humans themselves. Hypocrites, the lot of them. They shunned any Branded, despite the fact it was _their_ blood, _laguz _blood, that turned a normal beorc child into an abomination. Stefan would not let himself warm to these monsters. He would not let his guard down for any reason. He would fight and kill for the right to live as he had been. He would fight and kill for the right to protect his people. He joined this army, but he would not become a pawn for the puppet Empress. He joined this army, but he would never be more or less than the desert embodied-all the sand-scoured scorn and sun-scorched strength that made up his home.

This started boring, but I like the ending! 8D


End file.
